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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29386890">Bringing Kingdoms to Their Knees</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/borealyss/pseuds/Alyss'>Alyss (borealyss)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ASL, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, American Sign Language, Clarke Griffin Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Eventual Smut, F/M, Minor Violence, Not sure where I'm going with this, Prisoner! Clarke, Silence, Solitary Confinement, guard! bellamy, maybe?? - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:53:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,205</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29386890</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/borealyss/pseuds/Alyss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke Griffin has spent too long in solitary. Beaten to a pulp every time she tries to tell someone that the Ark is dying, she chooses instead to be silent.</p><p>Bellamy Blake is the one guard who shows her any kindness, and wants nothing more than to communicate with her.</p><p>A love story between two broken people, who might just be able to save the Ark before Clarke's eighteenth birthday execution, or they're all doomed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>TW for minor depictions of violence! Please read safely &lt;3</p><p>Title taken from 'Turning Page' by Sleeping at Last!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clarke Griffin has been in solitary confinement for longer than any other prisoner aboard the ark. By her count it had been a little over 600 days, the clock ticking towards her eighteenth birthday. She had been locked up at the age of fifteen, and she would spend the rest of her life here. She supposed if you looked at it in the right light it’s a major achievement. </p><p>Hours turned into days, days turned into months, and months turned into a year. For the first ten months Clarke had tried to reason with her guards. She had begged and pleaded, but every time she opened her mouth she was beaten until speaking was no longer an option.</p><p>Did they even know why she wasn’t allowed to talk? Did they even know she was trying to SAVE them? </p><p>Clarke Griffin wanted nothing more than to protect her people, for them to all know the truth about their lives, and for them to understand how precious every breath was. What had she gained from learning the truth besides pain? Her friends and family, her people, all of them viewed her as a traitor, only spreading lies and conspiracies. These things are dangerous on a place like the Ark, where mass hysteria would be deadly, and order must be maintained at all costs. Clarke understood this, but she knew that the people had a right to know.</p><p>When Abby Griffin came to patch up other inmates Clarke’s cell was always overlooked. Her own mother, her betrayer. Whenever Clarke thought about it too hard, she wondered if her mother was the one that ordered she be beaten into silence. It didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility, after all, Abby was the one that ordered she was put into solitary. </p><p>Left to her own devices, Clarke read everything she could get her hands on and tended to her own bruises. She read medical texts she was sure had been borrowed from the clinic and books about the Earth. Clarke learned about plants, both edible and medicinal, she learned about their governments and their wars. She learned about their gods and goddesses and laughed. If only they could see that there was nothing in the sky, no God of Thunder to smite those who committed grievous crimes. Clarke knew that she was alone in this world now, and that no God was coming to save her. Perhaps the gods had abandoned them whenever they ruined their planet a hundred years ago.</p><p>After one particularly bad beating, Clarke fell silent. With no one to talk to and no reason to use her voice, words became foreign and the vibration of her vocal cords became more uncomfortable than it was worth. No one was listening to her anyway, they were counting down the days until her birthday so they could get rid of her, a waste of precious oxygen. The irony wasn’t lost on Clarke that they didn’t even know how precious it was.</p><p>The leaders of the Ark wanted her silence, and she was willing to give it to them. </p><p> </p><p>Clarke’s silence did not go unnoticed by her guards, and even the cruelest ones became at least a little concerned. </p><p>The one time her mother came to visit her it was to check that she wasn’t broken. That she hadn’t somehow bit off her own tongue. </p><p>Ever the professional, Abby didn’t even acknowledge that Clarke was her daughter. The pair didn’t exchange a greeting, and after Abby assured the guards that there was nothing wrong with Clarke, that she was simply choosing not to speak, they didn’t say goodbye. Abby didn’t comment on the bruises on her daughter’s skin or the hollow look in her eyes.</p><p>As Abby Griffin exited the cell, Clarke caught one of her guards glaring. When they made eye contact Clarke thought she saw concern there. What a joke.</p><p>Her days flew by in a blur of charcoal on the walls. When the walls were filled, she graduated to the floor of her tiny cell. She drew the things she had always dreamed about. Streams and trees that stretched so far, they looked like they could touch the clouds. Clarke’s drawings eventually took shape into people too. She drew Wells’ smile, tried to capture the kindness of her father’s eyes. She drew pieces of the guard who had always been kind to her, the one who brought her charcoal and books, and talked to her even when she remained silent. She captured his freckles in the night sky, constellations high above a girl who walked on the ground. His eyes were above her door, next to a pair that looked like hers. If you looked closely enough you could recognize his hands by the scar on his right thumb, they were in the right corner, cupping the Earth in their palms.</p><p>Clarke hadn’t meant to draw him. Really, she didn’t mean to draw any of it. Once she started her hands just kept going until she was finished. Exhausted, with cheeks red from the tears that she hadn’t bothered to stop from flowing.</p><p> </p><p>One day, a year after Clarke had stopped speaking the kind guard came to her cell with a stack of books she hadn’t requested. </p><p>She raised her eyebrows at him as if to say, ‘what are these’ and he just smirked at her. </p><p>“Well Princess,” he started, ignoring her scowl at the nickname, “I’m getting a little tired of the silent treatment.” His grin turned into a frown as he remembered the condition he had found her in most days before the silence. He turned to look her in the eyes and whispered solemnly, “I understand Clarke, I get why you can’t or won’t speak.” His eyes shifted to the floor and Clarke wondered if he could see the pieces of him that were in everything she drew. She wondered if she saw himself the way she saw him, as art, as the stars in the sky, or as Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders as she knew he did.</p><p>When he finally drew his gaze back to Clarke he sighed. “I thought these might help. I know it’s not much, and I understand if you don’t even want to try, but if you do, I’ll study them too. Something happened Clarke, you’re no traitor and we both know it. Let me help you, please.”</p><p>With that, he turned on his heel and went to exit the cell. Clarke could’ve sworn he paused to examine the eyes above the door, pondering their resemblance to his own.<br/>
 </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Only the Sweetest Words Remain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Whenever the guard left the room Clarke sat down on her cot with the stacks of books he had brought. They were heavy and looked relatively new despite the thick coat of dust that covered them. The books were clearly not too popular at the library. </p><p>She examined the spines and was surprised at the titles she found. All of them were about forms of nonverbal communication, the majority describing either Morse code or American Sign Language. </p><p>A strong wave of emotion overtook Clarke. He wanted to communicate with her. He wanted to know about her, he BELIEVED her. She quickly wiped the tears that came to her eyes. She would start with sign language then. Clarke had seen people using it on the Ark before, those who were either deaf or hard of hearing found language using their hands. It was mesmerizing and expressive, but she had never thought to learn it. It was a language passed through their community, not one usually shared with the hearing. She was surprised there were books about it on the Ark at all.</p><p>She dove into teaching herself the alphabet first. After she knew all her letters, she learned about grammar and simple words and phrases. </p><p>A week passed before the guard visited her again, and Clarke was ready when he was. He entered the cell for his turn on watch and when he shut the door behind him Clarke hopped off the cot.</p><p>With a wide grin, Clarke waved at him and signed, “Hi my name is Clarke.” She had practiced this phrase over and over, wanting it to be perfect for the first time she truly interacted with him. </p><p>The guard’s jaw hung open wide, as if he were surprised to see that she had wanted to communicate with him. He returned her grin after he realized what she had signed and simply signed back, “I know your name,” followed by a sign Clarke didn’t recognize. She furrowed her eyebrows at him and repeated the gesture. The guard simply laughed and responded out loud, “Princess,” performing the sign as he said the word.</p><p>The guard gave another belly laugh at Clarke’s pouty face. She couldn’t escape the nickname, even in their silent banter.</p><p>He then looked at her again and began motioning, “My name is B-E-L-L-A-M-Y.” For some reason he looked nervous to tell her his name, as if she would laugh at him or reject him in some way. </p><p>Clarke grinned so wide her cheeks hurt. </p><p>For the first time in two and a half years, she had a friend. </p><p> </p><p>The pair talked for hours, Clarke showing him the books on Morse code, and they struggled through signing their entire conversations. Bellamy only ever spoke whenever his knowledge of the silent language failed him, which happened progressively often as they helped each other with their rough areas. They mutually agreed on using Morse code around the other guards. If someone found out Clarke was communicating in any way she would go back to the Hell she had spent a year in silence to escape.</p><p>They tapped out simple things, most of them not even real Morse code to make their communication less obvious. Three taps for “are you okay,” one tap for “yes,” and two taps for “no.”</p><p>The topic of Clarke’s arrest was carefully avoided, their friendship was so new, and if Clarke revealed the secret to Bellamy he would be put in danger. He never pushed the topic, and Clarke never offered to tell him why she was in solitary. For just one moment, they were happy to enjoy each other’s company.</p><p>Bellamy didn’t sign for a moment, his eyes surveying her cell, walking carefully along the paths between drawings so as not to smudge any of them. He stopped in front of her door and pointed to the eyes above them. After pointing to the eyes, he pressed his palm flat to his chest, Clarke recognized the sign. “Mine?” Bellamy asked silently, eyebrows raised gently.</p><p>Clarke nodded, her cheeks flushed a deep shade of scarlet, and Bellamy laughed in amazement. For the first time in hours, he used his voice. All he said was “Wow,” with wonder in his tone, and suddenly Clarke was a little embarrassed.</p><p>Clarke walked over to him and pinched his shirt sleeve to get him to follow. She gently guided him over to the right corner, where Bellamy’s hands were drawn holding the Earth. She pointed to the sketch, right to the small scar on the thumb, before pulling his arm up and running her fingers along the identical scar on his. Clarke led him towards the corner her cot was in and pointed to the floor, where there was a girl on the ground, looking up at the constellations in the sky. She traced the constellation on the floor and mirrored the motion on his cheek. Clarke showed him all the pieces of him, scattered around her bedroom, and Bellamy just stared with reverence.</p><p>Bellamy did not judge, nor did he shy away from her as she expected. He looked at her and signed, “Why.” Clarke only shrugged and gestured back, “You were kind to me, when no one else was.” </p><p>Bellamy’s eyes softened and whispered, “I’m so sorry Clarke, I wish I could’ve done more to protect you. I tried to go the Chancellor, but all my requests to meet with him for your sake were met with rejection. I tried Clarke; I swear I did.”  His voice was hoarse from disuse, but Clarke could’ve sworn his eyes sparkled with tears when he recalled everything he watched her endure.</p><p>The pair sprang apart whenever there was a loud knock on the door. </p><p>A loud male voice came through the intercom that went directly into Clarke’s room. “Blake, time for shift change.” </p><p>Bellamy wiped his eyes, cleared his throat, and spoke into his radio. “Roger captain, preparing for shift change.” </p><p>He looked at her apologetically, and said “Sorry Princess, you know the drill.” </p><p>Clarke just rolled her eyes, and raised her arms over her head, ready for Bellamy to do his final sweep to check her for weapons or contraband. </p><p>Bellamy lightly skimmed his hands down her arms, then down the curve after her waist. He gently dragged his fingertips across the waistband of her fleece lined leggings, and then down both legs.<br/>
Clarke could’ve sworn his breath hitched at least once.</p><p>When Bellamy left, Clarke was given 15 minutes to shower before the next guard came in, she turned the nozzle all the way to cold and used every single minute.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter, I might continue this one, let me know if you want to read more! Thanks for reading &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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